Becoming Clear
You ask what's wrong, but I hear a twist. You grab my arm, and I cover my wrist. Your appalled by my behavior, I'm silent and dry. But honey what you can't see is that I'm dying inside. I sit alone in a hallow dark room, can't help my self but to think of you. When we come face to face, it all soon becomes clear. The Devil isn't in me. It's in you my dear.
Copyright © Summer Gore | Year Posted 2015
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